Carol Cail

Another Day, Another Symptom

I wake,
take stock, shocked how
our years accumulate.
Quick--kiss me again before it's
too late.




Literally

Cold dry,
my fingers split
like overripened peas.
I type. The poems bleed across
the keys.




Writer's Rorschach

Focus
on my mouth--I'll
try to make you smile.

Home.

One right word conjures a thousand
pictures.




Genealogy

One hopes
this pyramid
loved as well as begat--
these ghost couples who coupled at
least once.